


The Unrequited Dream

by Fleur



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, the angstiest angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 11:44:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fleur/pseuds/Fleur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's goodbye with no promise of when the next hello will come. </p><p>He can feel the heartbreak radiating into his hands. Each breath burns in his lungs. </p><p>He's drowning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unrequited Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song "Vermillion, Pt. 2" by Slipknot.

It’s goodbye. Goodbye with no promise of when the next hello will come.

 

He can feel the heartbreak radiating into his hands.  Each breath burns in his lungs.

 

He’s drowning. 

 

He curls deeper in on himself with each passing _congratulations, good work, out with a bang, eh Matt?_ until he no longer registers them. 

 

Nothing matters but her. He is acutely aware of her every move, but he’s frozen to his barstool, paralyzed by the hurricane of pure feeling that is roaring in his ears. He wants to be closer to her, but every inch he keeps between them is another handhold he has on his self-control. 

 

If he lets himself go to her now, he will not be able to keep from wrapping his arms around her, and there is enough alcohol buzzing in his brain that once he has her in his arms, he will not be able to let her go until he’s thoroughly ruined their friendship.

 

He loves her desperately. Completely. All the way down to his bones. It’s an iron fist around his heart that grips tighter with every passing day, and a voice in his head whispers that the pain would ease if he’d only _tell her, tell her that she is everything to you_ , but no, he can’t, because to tell her would be to lose her. 

 

But… _could it possibly be worth it?_  

 

As it is, he may never see her again. He could have one last kiss. He could touch his lips to hers and preserve that memory forever. He may even be able to pass it off as a joke. Pretend it was a silly, drunken gesture, and that it didn’t mean everything to him, that he wouldn’t give absolutely anything to have her to himself. 

 

Deep breath in.

 

He would do it.

 

It’s worth the risk.

 

Exhale.

 

Now or never.

 

He would—

 

“Darling…” a voice whispers by his ear. He jumps, ice cold flooding into the pit of his stomach. He's paralyzed.

 

Breathing had seemed so easy just moments ago, but now he is suffocating underneath her gaze. He stares. He has so much to tell her, but none of the words he needs. 

 

She returns his stare, then sighs and smiles warmly. 

 

“Get some sleep, Matt. You look exhausted.”

 

She turns, lowers her head, and walks quickly from the room.

 

It’s goodbye without the promise of the next hello, and he’s drowning.

 

She’s fading, a ghost whispering away into the daylight.

 

 _She isn’t real,_ he thinks. _I can’t make her real._

 

And he lets her go.

 


End file.
